


Like Spinning Plates

by buttercupross



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: DISCLAIMER: the rape scene is not graphic nor implicit but may be triggering, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Ryden, This is essentially the last of us with Ryden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercupross/pseuds/buttercupross
Summary: Civilization ended the night she died in the back seat of Spencer’s 2011 Toyota Camry. Everything that Ryan thought he knew –who he was, his future– gone completely. His world suddenly washed away like chalk on a driveway, instantly replaced with a pandemic and deadly wasteland of ennui and depression. He could be a survivor– but only if he was willing to bury the past.





	1. Stimulant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [servecobwebheadaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/gifts), [just_folie_a_deux_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_folie_a_deux_it/gifts).



God wasn’t real, Ryan decided.

It was either God wasn’t real, or He simply hated him. Either way, Ryan was totally and utterly fucked.

The front door closed with a click behind him.

“Spencer,” he whisper-yelled into the phone, “you know I can't. He's the _contractor_.” He groped the wall blindly for the light switch. “I don't care what he said about– no, listen to me, we need this job.”

The lights flickered on, illuminating Keltie's sleeping face on the couch. She yawned softly, her brown eyes fluttering open.

Ryan mouthed the word 'sorry,' casting her an apologetic look.

She smiled up at him sleepily, her blonde hair flattened on one side as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Ryan sighed and watched her stretch her thin arms above her head before cracking her neck.

“Yeah, okay. We'll talk in the morning.” Pause. “Goodnight, then.” Spencer hung up and Ryan flung the phone down on the coffee table before collapsing on the couch next to her.

“Did I wake you?” Ryan asked, rubbing the side of his face.

“Nope, I'm still very much asleep.”

Ryan let out a breath, letting his head fall back against the cushion as Keltie laid across his lap.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, carding through her soft hair absent-mindedly.

She hummed contentedly. “Fun day at work, huh?”

Ryan didn't respond, brushing his thumb over her neck. “What are you doing down here? It's late.”

“Shit!” She exclaimed, pushing herself off of Ryan abruptly. “What time is it?”

Ryan shrugged. “I don't know. Eleven-thirty?” He said with an exhausted sigh. Keltie turned to look at the clock above the couch. “You should be in bed. You have work,” Ryan muttered.

“It's not too late,” She said, rolling off of the couch.

Ryan took a deep breath. “Babe, not now. I really don't have the energy.”

“Here.” She said, pulling a box out from beneath the sofa. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Ryan blinked.

_Screw you too, God._

He looked at Keltie who was smiling her angel smile, her brown eyes warm with excitement.

“Kelts, what is this?”

Keltie kept smiling. “Open it.”

Ryan took a deep breath and flipped the lid upwards.

It was an expensive-looking gold watch that was attached to a sandy-brown, leather band with small, lustrous jewels encompassing the face. “Keltie,” Ryan exhaled.

“You kept groaning about your broken watch, so.” She shrugged as if it were nothing.

Ryan sat silently in deep thought. God, he loved her.

“Do you like it?”

Ryan nodded, taking it out of its box and sliding it onto his wrist. “Yes of course babe, it–” He held it up to his ear, his face falling.

“What?” She asked worriedly, her happy expression melting.

“It's really nice, babe, and I really like it, but I don't think that it–”

“What! No no no.” She grabbed Ryan's wrist and pressed it against her ear, the disquiet melting off of her face almost instantly. “Very funny, Ryan,” she snapped, pushing Ryan's arm away from her. "Ha ha."

Ryan smiled easily, grabbing her wrist and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” She said, fitting her head into the crook of Ryan's neck. “I hate you. You're a real pain in the ass.”

Ryan held the watch away from his body, letting his head tip against Keltie's as he examined his wrist. “Then why'd you buy me the watch?”

She groaned, swatting at Ryan's face.

“How did you afford this?” Ryan asked, rolling his wrist around and watching it catch the beams from the white ceiling lights.

“Drugs.” She said without missing a beat. “I sell hardcore drugs.”

Ryan snorted and pressed his face into her hair. It smelled like her coconut shampoo. “Oh good. That means when we go out to dinner tomorrow you can pay.”

“You are relentless. I want a divorce.” Keltie said as Ryan slung his arms around her shoulders.

“You do realize that that we’re not married.”

“Says who?” She asked.

“The state of Nevada” Ryan said matter-of-factly, turning towards her.

She looked up at him. “We should get married.”

“Huh?” Ryan asked, his heart rate accelerating in shock.

“We should get married.” She repeated.

“Keltie I–”

“What?”

Ryan got quiet as her eyes stared into his. They were sparkling in admiration, her deep brown irises so shiny they were practically glistening. They were beautiful. She was beautiful.

“Okay.”

Her face lit up, her angel smile spreading across her lips. “Okay?”

Ryan felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, mirroring her’s. “Yeah. Okay.”

She beamed, running her fingers through her hair. “Wow. We’re getting married,” she breathed, sounding shell-shocked.

Ryan leaned in and pressed their lips together, his hands finding the back of her neck. “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips.

“I love you too.”

* * *

The phone was ringing.

Keltie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom.

She groaned, glaring at the phone that was ringing on her nightstand, illuminating all of the surrounding molecules with the hazy glow from its screen. She rolled towards it, her fingers fumbling for the ‘answer call’ button as her fuzzy bathrobe twisted around her middle uncomfortably.

“Hullo?” She whispered sleepily, her voice rough and tired.

“Keltie? I need you to get Ryan.”

“Spencer? It's—” She looked over her shoulder at the digital clock by her elbow. “–four in the morning. I'll call you la–”

“No listen to me, okay, I need you to wake him up and pack all of your stuff I'll be there in ten.”

“The hell you will,” Keltie said annoyed, smoothing her hair.

“Keltie, I'm serious, get your stuff together some–”

The line went dead.

“Spence?” She asked, “Hello? Spencer, are you there?”

The line buzzed back at her.

She sighed and hung up the phone, rolling back over to wake up–

“Ryan?” Keltie whispered. She stared at the empty sheets next to her, the imprint of a body still pressed into them.

She pushed herself out of bed with a humph, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. ”Ryan?” She called louder.

She tightened her robe and walked out into the hallway, squinting as she flicked on the lights. ”Babe, where are you?” She checked the bathroom. Empty. Keltie sighed and started down the stairs, the carpet soft under her bare feet.

“Ry-an!” She called again, walking into the living room. _Where the hell was he?_

The TV was on. A pretty, brunette reporter was standing in front of what looked like some type of fleeing mob, people rushing around her in a panic. She paused to watch. “It seems like these crowds have turned violent due to an unknown–”

A man pushed past her, knocking the microphone from her hand. “Lady! What are you doing? Get outta here! Just get the hell out–”

Keltie’s attention was pulled away from the TV as an explosion went off outside of the kitchen window, a billowing mushroom cloud of thick smoke rising into the ozone. She thought it looked like it was fairly far off, near the city. Another went off.

“What the . . .?” She muttered breathlessly, turning back towards the TV but it was only static. _What was going on?_ Keltie felt like her brain was on the brink of detonation. This whole night had just been too freakish and inexplicable, none of it was making any sense, and where the _fuck_ was Ryan?

“Ryan!” She called, her voice panicked. “Ryan, where are you?”

A fleet of cop cars sped down the street, sirens blaring, their lights flashing through the windows. She felt her stomach turn. “Ryan!”

She walked into the study just as Ryan stumbled in from the back, the door slamming shut behind him. “What the fuck!?" She shouted, her heart sinking into her gut. “What the hell is going on?”

Ryan was breathing heavily, his lips parted and covered in blood. “Kelts, oh god,” He said, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She blinked up at him. He smelt like bile. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

He peeled himself off of her, running a hand through the front of his curls anxiously. “Has anyone come in here?”

Keltie frowned in confusion, “No, why would they?”

Ryan brushed her off and started towards the desk by the wall on their right. “I need the gun.”

 _“What?_ Ryan, what's going on?” Keltie asked, walking towards the glass door that opened to their porch and looking into the darkness outside. She couldn’t see anything except the vast shadow of their house, shrouding everything in sight. The scene was eerily ordinary and created a sickening feeling in her stomach.

“It's the Hurleys– _Jesus fuck_ – Keltie, get away from the door.”

She took a step back, staring as he riffled through the drawers frantically.

“What about them?”

“They're like _sick_ , like it's, it's a disease or, or some type of an infection.” Ryan muttered, pulling out the shotgun and locking the bullets into place.

“What do you mean ‘sick’?” She asked, her stomach starting to curl.

Ryan didn't answer, his face drawn in focus as he flipped off the safety.

A startled gasp escaped her lips as a man threw his body at the door, leaving a bloody smudge where his face hit against the glass. “Jesus,” Keltie said, her voice shaking with panic as she took a step back. “Ryan...”

“Keltie, get behind me,” he said, pointing the barrel of the gun towards the door. “Andy!” He shouted, “I'm warning you, do not come in here!”

“Christ,” Keltie said, getting behind him and gripping fistfuls of her robe in tension.

Andy beat himself against the glass again, and again, and again, again until it shattered with a sound equivalent to a thousand breaking teacups; Andy collapsing against the pile of door on the ground.

“Andy! I'm serious. Just, just stay back! I'm warning you,”

“Oh my god,” Keltie whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. Andy's face was caked with cracked, dry blood– his skin looking like he had taken a bath in a two-hundred degree vat of poison ivy. He was covered in swollen, festering blisters; some secreting a puss-like substance, some oozing blood. His powder blue dress shirt was ripped, his tie reduced to a loose thread hanging around his neck as if it were a noose.

He lunged at them and Keltie squeezed her eyes shut. “Don't!” Ryan's voice yelled.

Gunshot.

Keltie opened her eyes.

Andy was on the ground twitching and bleeding out, a hole punctured in his forehead.

“Come on,” Ryan mumbled, grabbing onto Keltie's shoulder and pulling her into the kitchen.

“You just shot him.” She said in disbelief, the words feeling almost foreign in her mouth.

“Keltie, baby, listen to me,” Ryan said, his fingers pressing into her shoulder blades. “I don't know what's happening, but I know that it's something awful, okay? We have to go, just trust me.”

Keltie stared at him for a moment in incredulity. He was breathing hard, disheveled brunette curls falling into his widened eyes. He looked scared, which for Ryan was almost an anomaly. She couldn't remember a time when he had ever looked nearly this afraid.

She said, “Okay.”

Lights flashed through their windows as a car pulled onto their front lawn. Ryan looked up. “That's Spencer. Let's go.” He turned, lacing their fingers together and leading her towards the front door.

She followed, her feet stumbling over each other.

“C'mon baby,” he urged.

“Okay,” she whispered, her stomach twisting with the image of Andy lying by her feet, blood spilling out of the bullet hole in his skull like beer out of a keg. She felt sick.

Ryan opened the door, only to be greeted by Spencer's friendly voice. “What the fuck Ryan!? Where have you been? Do you have any clue as to what's going on outside right now?”

“I think I've got a pretty good idea,” Ryan spat, leading Keltie around the side of the truck and helping her in.

“Here babe, get inside.” He said softly, opening the door for her. She swallowed, letting him help her in.

“Shit,” Spencer said, “You're covered in blood. What happened?”

Ryan got inside the passenger door. “It isn't mine– can we just get the fuck out of here?”

Spencer started the ignition, “FOX said it was some type of disease, others are saying it's some kind of government experiment gone wrong, I don't know what to believe.”

“A disease?” Keltie asked.

“Yeah.” Spencer said. “Half the state is infected already, it's driving people fucking crazy.” Then to Ryan, “Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened to your arm?”

“Later.” He said coldly, casting a dark look out the window. He said something, but all Keltie could see was Andy: Andy with these calluses all over his skin, Andy spitting out blood and saliva...

 _“Keltie_.”

“Huh?” She asked.

“Your seatbelt.” Ryan repeated.

Keltie shook her head, her blond hair falling into her eyes. “Right.” She buckled it.

He turned to look at her, a look of concern imprinted over his features. “How are you doing baby?”

“I'm fine.” She answered solemnly.

He stared at her for a moment longer, shooting her a closed mouth smile and squeezing her knee before he turned back around.

“Fuck this car,” Spencer muttered, punching the shift as they lurched backwards and off the lawn. “Sorry.”

It was quiet for a brief minute, the engine humming beneath their feet.

“Could we put on the radio?” Keltie asked.

“Sure,” Spencer said, flipping with the dials.

“Thanks,” Keltie said, folding her hands in her lap. She looked at the rug by her shoes.

The radio let out a high pitched hum and Spencer shut it off with a sigh. “Perfect. Now we don't have radio connection, either.”

“Do you know where we're going?” Ryan asked.

“They're setting up military roadblocks on the highway. They aren't letting people near Douglas County.”

“Take I-80,” Ryan said.

“That's the plan.”

Keltie sat silently, looking at her lap. She thought of Andy’s mom whom she had met once. “Did they say how many were dead?”

Spencer shrugged. “Probably a lot. They showed this one family that had gotten all mutilated in their own house. I think they left a window open or something”

“Lovely.” Keltie murmured distantly.

Spencer hummed.

Keltie stared out of the window, blinking as they passed the remains of an SUV that had taken a rather unfortunate turn into an electrical pole. She flinched and turned away once she noticed the child's body crushed under it. For the umpteenth time in the past hour, she felt nausea.

 _What the fuck did she just see?_ She focused on keeping her breathing even.

“How did this even happen?” Ryan said, watching the crash fade into the distance with a mixed look of disgust and horror on his face.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “You're asking me. Everyone is completely stumped.”

“Everyone?” Ryan asked.

“Everyone in the United States. It started on the east coast and then spread. We’re one of the last states to get hit.”

Ryan made a noise in the back of his throat. “Perfect.”

“Holy shit,” Spencer said as they rapidly approached a building that was being mauled by flames. “That's Jon's condo.”

Keltie looked out the window, holding her breath as they drove by. Smoke and ash secreted from every window and door as if it was trying to devour all of the oxygen on the property, and half of the roof had already caved in on itself.

“Hope he made it out okay.” Spencer said softly.

“I'm sure he's fine,” Keltie said instinctively, but even she wasn't sure if she would believe herself. “Ry?”

“Mmm?” Ryan hummed.

“Do you think we could be sick?” She thought back to Andy, his coarse, auburn hair dirtied and matted with blood. How his fingers twitched even after the rest of him went still.

“No. No, of course not Kelts,” Ryan assured her, meeting her eye in the rearview mirror.

“How can you tell?” She asked.

“They said that it was just, uh, people near the cities. I think that we're okay.” Spencer cut in.

“It's this right.” Ryan said.

Spencer let out an agitated breath. “I know.”

“Didn't Andy have a job in the city?” Keltie asked, “He was a lawyer or something.”

“Yeah.” Ryan exhaled. “He did.”

Keltie touched her hands to her cheeks, alarmed when she felt the remains of cold tears. She hadn't realized that she had been crying.

"We're fine,” Ryan said, his voice heavy with conviction.

Keltie didn't answer. They drove on.

“The hell is that?” Ryan said suddenly.

“We should see what they want,” Spencer responded, easing on the breaks.

Ryan looked affronted as he put his hand on the wheel. “Spencer! What the hell are you doing!? Do not stop this car.”

“They have a _kid_ , Ryan,” He insisted.

“We _are_ kids, Spencer!”

A man jumped into their headlights, waving his arms frantically. “Hey! Stop!”

“Keep driving.” Ryan insisted.

“But we have room,” Keltie interjected, putting her hand on Ryan's shoulder.

“Keep driving this car, Spencer.” Ryan said, his voice low.

They drove past, the man's desperate yells fading into the distance.

Keltie felt anger bubble up inside her. “What the hell Ryan? They needed our help!”

Ryan let out a short breath. “Someone else will stop for them.”

Keltie slumped back into the seat shooting angry glances at her boyfriend. God, they would probably end up like Andy, or (even worse) like that kid crushed by his mom's car. The thought freaked her out so she focused on a paper cup that Spencer had left on the floor.

“You haven't seen half of what I have. You can't trust people anymore.”

She remained silent, resuming the staring contest with her lap.

Screw Ryan. They could have just saved three people’s lives.

“We should have helped them.”

Neither Ryan nor Spencer responded.

“Shit,” Spencer said as they started to slow to a stop, the reflections of a thousand brake lights illuminating the windows of the car. He smashed his palm against the steering wheel. “ _Shit, shit, shit_.”

“This is bad,” Ryan murmured, "We're never gonna get through all this traffic, maybe we could go around–”

“What the fuck!?” A man shouted, stepping out of his car. “What the hell is taking so long?”

Keltie watched in horror as a man with boils masking his skin launched himself at the other man, screeching while assailing him and brutally lacerating his face.

“Spence, we need to get the fuck out of here now!” Ryan urged. Keltie felt bile rise in her chest but she managed to push it down.

Spencer remained unmoving, blinking at the corpse. “What the hell just happened?”

“ _Now_ , Spencer!” Ryan shouted as the infected started barreling towards them.

Spencer snapped into it, reversing the car and driving as fast as permissible in the opposite direction. “Jesus Christ! Did you see that, Ryan?”

"Yeah," Ryan said breathily, “I saw. Turn here.” Spencer obeyed.

People instantly flocked the car; shouting and running at them, banging on the hood before sprinting away.

“Oh god,” Spencer said, reducing their speed to a slow crawl.

“Move!” Ryan demanded, his voice sharp.

“It's not like I can just run them over, Ryan!"

Keltie stared. They looked horrified– faces ghostly white as if they were witnessing the end of the world. “What are they running from?” She wondered out loud, backing away from the window as a woman’s face beat against it.

“Back up, then!” Ryan said.

“They're behind me too!” Spencer insisted.

Keltie saw the other car approaching only a second too late, a strangled “Watch out!” escaping her lips before headlights flashed, a horn blaring as they suddenly made impact. Her vision tipped and the world rolled over onto it's back, her breath escaping her lips as glass sliced the skin on her cheeks and dug into the side of her neck. For a brief minute, she tasted blood. Then, nothing.


	2. Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ryan and Z settle unfinished business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Elia for being my cheerleader and also Isabelle and Casey for being the best betas and friends in the whole universe. Oh, and thanks Meg for clearing my schedule so I could finish this. Trigger warning, I guess? Lots of violence at the end. I apologize in advance to Bill Beckett stans.

**Summer**

**Seven Years Later**

Ryan jolted upright in bed, a loud knock echoing throughout his small apartment.

He sat there for a minute, breathing heavily. Fucking nightmares; they only ever seemed to get worse.

Soft beams of morning light filtered through the cracks of the shutters over his bedroom window, casting bright spots of sunlight across his hands and blankets. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, his morning ritual suddenly interrupted by another knock– this time louder and more aggressive.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he pushed himself off the edge of the mattress; the springs creaked with the sudden lack of his weight. Still lethargic and half asleep, he dragged himself into the kitchen. The person behind the door started pounding belligerently.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he called, blinking hard. Fuck you. Which inconsiderate asshole felt that they had the right to wake Ryan up before 10 a.m.? Fuck them.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open to reveal a pissed-looking Z before he let out a short sigh.

“Rise and shine, darling,” she said, pushing past him and walking directly over to the cabinet under the sink.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Z didn’t answer, producing a bottle of whiskey and two slightly foggy scotch glasses. “Want one? You could stand to loosen up.”

“No I don’t... want one,” Ryan exhaled deeply and flopped down on the couch.

Z shrugged, pouring herself a glass.

Her blonde hair was pulled out of her eyes and into a short ponytail, a few wisps framing her face which was dirtied and smeared with what looked like fresh blood. Never a good sign–although he couldn't bring himself to care very much. He knew Z could handle herself. She took a long sip of her whiskey. “I have some interesting news for you.”

“You could start by telling me where you've been,” Ryan said, stretching his legs out.

She narrowed her eyes. “West End.” She smeared the blood on her cheek before nonchalantly wiping her hand on her jeans. “That drop we had to make.”

“ _We_ ,” Ryan said, letting his tone convey that he wasn’t impressed. “ _We_ had that drop to make.”

He picked up a cloth on the floor and threw it at Z who caught it, looking mildly confused.

Ryan made a gesture towards his cheek.

“Well. You wanted to brood, remember?” She asked, pressing the fabric against her face.

Actually, no. He didn’t remember that. Annoyed, Ryan turned to look out the window. “Let me guess, you made some half-hearted threat, the client got pissed and made off with our pills, and you're lucky to be here. Does that sound about right?”

Z laughed sardonically and Ryan could tell that he had offended her. Good.

“Deal went fine,” she snapped, removing the cloth from her face to glare at him. “Got us ration cards for a few months and a couple cases of ammo. If you’re lucky, I might not waste them on you.” She pulled the contraband out of her back pocket and threw it down on the kitchen table.

Ryan snorted. “Yeah? What about this, then?” He pointed to her cheek.

It was Z’s turn to look annoyed. “I was coming back to get your sleeping ass out of bed and I was jumped by these two assholes, alright?” Ryan stared at her, irritated. She shouldn't go out like that; they were a... _team_. Or something like that, at least he thought. She took a sip of her drink and Ryan noted that her eyes were slightly darker than usual–almost entirely black.

“And yeah,” she continued, “they got a few good hits in, but…” She noticed the disapproving look Ryan was giving her and scowled. “Hey. I managed, okay?”

Ryan shook his head. _Whatever._ “Put that rag back on your face.”

Reluctantly, she obeyed.

“Now, these assholes, are they still a threat to us?” He asked.

She smirked, light streaking across her bloodied face. “Don’t humor me.”

“Did you at least find out who they were?”

“Look, they were a couple of nobodies, okay? Faceless, anonymous men– they don’t fucking matter. What matters,” she said, her voice sharp, “is that Bill sent them.”

And just like that, Ryan was interested. “Bill? As in, our dear friend and lover?”

Z made a throaty sound. “He knows that we’re looking for him. He figures that he stands a chance if he gets us first.”

Well, that was a fucking joke. Ryan rubbed his face again and pushed himself off of the couch. _Now, where did he leave his gun?_

“That son of a bitch,” Ryan muttered, bending down to check under the couch. “He’s smart.”

“We’re smarter,” she said, finishing her whiskey and slamming the glass down on the kitchen table. “It’s in the liquor cabinet,” she told him.

He mumbled something along the lines of a ‘thank you’ before retrieving his revolver.

“I know where he’s hiding,” she said smugly. Ryan stopped locking bullets into place to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling almost maniacally, a wicked smile spread across her lips.

Ryan rolled his eyes and went back to loading his gun. “Fuck you.”

“Abandoned warehouse in Area 5– can’t make any promises for how long, though.”

Ryan looked up at her again. “No shit.”

Bill, limp on the ground, his arms twisted behind his back. Bill with a gun pressed to his head, spitting blood. Ryan was in for that. “Well, I’m ready now, yeah?”

Z smiled and looked to her empty whiskey glass. “I guess can do now.”

* * *

“Hurry up, old man,” Z called, slipping into an alleyway and out of sight. “Nearest checkpoint is still open. Only a few hours until curfew.”

Ryan hummed and continued walking at the same pace. “Plenty of time for you to get me caught up on all the latest gossip.” He turned the corner and followed behind her, the heel of her boots clicking along the cracked pavement.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She shot him an impish smile over her shoulder. “Well, Jamia got her papers this morning. ‘Selected for outside duty.’”

Ryan feigned interest. “Yeah? Only soldiers are supposed handle the outside.”

Z pulled her jacket up around her neck. “I'll be sure to tell her that.”

They made their way out to the mostly-deserted street as the daily PSA droned throughout the speakers, a voice belonging to a creepy-sounding woman, whom Ryan was convinced was part-robot, saying, “Attention. Citizens are required to carry an I.D. at all times. Compliance with all city personnel is mandatory.”

Seven states in seven years and the only thing that had changed was the voice of the public service lady. Ryan had moved around a lot since the outbreak, he just couldn't find it in him to stay in Nevada. So, he city-hopped. Salt Lake, Boise, Missoula, Seattle, Portland, until he found himself in an alleyway in Los Angeles with a bullet in his side and Z hovering above him, calling him a fucking pansy and telling him that he shouldn't stand where her bullets were.

They had stuck together ever since.

Los Angeles, from the outside looking in, appeared to have been trampled by a billion obese elephants. But then again, most of the U.S. had started to look like God's doormat by now: Flattened. Mostly submerged in the earth. Ryan now inhabited the shell of a previous flat. By some miracle, it still had running water and a slowly decomposing mattress on the floor. Now that Ryan was looking around at the depleted, lifeless state of the city, he suddenly realized why he hardly ever left his apartment building, even though it reeked of cat piss and the ceiling spat out asbestos if Z knocked too loud. The outside world was fucking depressing.

“Would you look at that,” Z said, pulling Ryan out of his thoughts. “Ration line hasn’t opened yet. Must be running low again.”

A woman in her mid-forties with curly, black hair called out from the back of the line. “Hey! How much longer?”

A guard scoffed. “Lady, when the rations arrive, we’ll open the door. Alright?”

“Rough,” Ryan mumbled to Z.

“Well, warlords aren't exactly known for being the friendliest people on earth,” Z said quietly. “What’s that?”

Ryan looked to where Z had nodded. A few guards clad in military gear dragged two people out of a building and pushed them to their knees, violently shoving the butts of their guns into their backs. Fireflies.

“I didn’t do shit!” One of them yelled, but he was quickly silenced by a ringing gunshot.

One of the guards made eye contact with Ryan. “The hell you looking at? This ain’t a show. Move along.”

Ryan looked to Z, but she was already a few feet ahead of him. He jogged to catch up, ignoring the second yelp and gunshot that followed them.

“That's the third group of Fireflies I’ve seen get caught this week,” Z said and Ryan shrugged.

Of course they'd start to get caught eventually. They were fucking idiots. The fireflies were a group of ~~imbeciles~~ terrorists that claimed initial responsibility for the outbreak. Since then, they had overthrown their leader, made some big, loud campaign about the government, and were now trying to repair the world and undo what they started. Spencer joined them two nights after she–

“I got us all new papers,” Z said as they approached the checkpoint–a gate in the nine foot tall barbed wire fence that was marked with a tattered, mustard-yellow flag. “We shouldn't have any issues up there, just, play it cool.”

Ryan scoffed. Cool.

“Let me see your I.D.s,” the guard said as they approached. Z handed them to him.

The guard eyed them carefully. “What's your business here?”

“Got the day off,” Ryan said cooly. Cool, cool, cool. “Visiting a friend.”

The guard nodded. “Alright. Move on though.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said as a tank beyond the gate exploded, sending bits of flaming debris shooting at them. Z swore and pulled Ryan down as the gate closed abruptly, the sound of rapid gunfire filling the air.

“Get out of here! Go!” The guard shouted, turning away from them. “Close it up!”

Z pulled on Ryan's sleeve. “Let's move.”

“Fucking fireflies! Shoot 'em!”Another guard yelled above the guns.

A loud alarm began to blare as Ryan turned to run closely behind. Creepy Cyborg Woman said, “Attention. Checkpoint five is now closed until further notice. All civilians must clear the surrounding–”

“Ryan, let’s go, c’mon,” Z urged as she sprinted ahead of him, which, Ryan noted, was rather impressive in her multi-inch heels.

“Goddamn Fireflies,” Ryan muttered to himself as he ran behind her, a group of guards rushing past them.

“Here!” Z shouted, abruptly coming to a halt. She turned and pushed opened the doors to an abandoned hotel, her cheeks pink and sweaty. Ryan followed quickly, silencing Creepy Cyborg Woman with a slam behind him.

“Fuck,” Ryan muttered.

Z stared at him for moment, catching her breath. She fixed her hair and sniffled. “Well... so much for the easy route.” She pulled a bandage out of her back pocket. “Here. Patch yourself up.”

“Huh?” Ryan looked down. There was a thin slice in his forearm, and hot, ruby blood had just begun to make its way through his skin. “Save it.” Ryan said, wiping it on his gray t-shirt. Z glared at him, still holding out the bandage and Ryan could tell she was trying to squash his brain using telekinesis. He looked at the gash on her face.

He sighed and took it from her, wrapping it around his arm. “There. Happy?” He asked.

She ignored him and started down the hallway, glass crunching under her boots as she stepped over a broken chandelier. “They’re gonna close all the checkpoints, we’re going to have to go around the outside.”

Ryan brushed his hair out of his face, his arm grazing the stubble on his chin. He really needed a shave. “Outside the wall, you mean?”

Z gave him a look. “Or, we could just let Bill go.”

Ryan smiled at her. “That’s cute.”

She returned the smile, but her dark eyes remained cold.

“Hey Z,” a man called, emerging from the shadows. Tattoos, piercings, deceitfully friendly hazel-green eyes. Ryan took his hand off his gun. “Ryan,” he added.

“Frank.”

“Did you see that shit?” He asked them. He had dried blood on his shirt and cracked mud covering the tattoos on his hands.

“We were there,” Z said, then, “Tell him, Ry.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at her obvious attempt to pin the conversation on him. _Screw you, Z._

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “We were there.”

Thankfully, Frank didn't seem to be very interested in his response. “You guys using the east tunnel?” He asked her. She gave Ryan a look over her shoulder.

Ryan heaved a deep sigh. She owed him. “Yeah, we are. How's it looking?”

Frank shrugged. “Clear. I just used it. No patrols. No infected.”

Ryan hummed. Good.

“Where are you guys headed?” He asked. Ryan looked back down at the patterned, red carpet under his feet. He was done talking.

“Paying William a visit,” Z said after an uncomfortably long silence.

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? You too?”

Ryan scowled. “Who else is looking for him?”

Frank cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, Travie. He’s been asking around for him.”

Z frowned, “Travie? What do the fireflies need with Bill?”

Frank smiled at her. “Like he’d tell me anything.”

“Well,” Z said flatly, “What did you tell him?”

They passed a row of creepy oil paintings clinging onto the wall, two of them ripped down the middle, the others looking as if they were on the brink of falling off. Frank cracked his knuckles and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket.

“The truth,” he said, sticking it in between his lips. “I have no idea where he’s hiding. Smoke?” He offered her a cigarette.

“Thanks, sailor,” Z said, plucking it out of his fingers. They stopped momentarily so he could light her. “Hey, you stay out of trouble. Military’s gonna be on patrol soon.”

“Yeah, you too. See you around.” Frank said, stopping against a wall to start what Ryan assumed would turn into chain-smoking. Ryan gave a curt wave and Frank smiled at him. Frank was in too good of a mood today. It was disgusting.

They turned a corner and Z slowed to walk side by side with him. “Travie looking for Bill. What do you think about that?”

Ryan took the cigarette out of her mouth and took a drag. “Maybe Travie ran out of firefly recruits to screw.”

Z raised an eyebrow and took her cigarette back. “I think that flame is long burned out.”

Oh. Right.

“I forgot about that,” Ryan mumbled. “Shit. We better find him before the fireflies do.”

Z didn’t say anything, turning into an open room with wide, floor-to-ceiling windows. Ryan thought that maybe it used to be the lobby.

“Our stop.” She said, walking over towards a tall, oak wood bookshelf. Needless to say, all of the books had been burned last winter. “Ryan, give me a hand.”

Ryan walked over to the opposite side and pulled it out of the way, revealing a gaping hole in the wall. “After you,” he muttered, stepping to the side.

Z jumped down and landed with a soft humph. “Ugh, this place reeks,” she said, the clink of her boots echoing off the walls. Ryan jumped into the darkness; completely blinded for a moment before Z flicked on the generator and illuminated the tunnel. “Let there be light.”

Ryan wiped the sweat clinging to his upper lip. “Let's just get our gear and blast.”

Z was two steps ahead, throwing his backpack and handgun at him. The bag was damp on the bottom, most likely from soaking in a puddle of radioactive waste. He was genuinely surprised that with all the time they spent traveling through this tunnel he hadn't grown a third eye by now.

“Not much ammo.” He muttered, frowning down at his gun before sliding his it in its holster.

“Make your shots count then,” Z said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Ready to rock n’ roll?”

Ryan pulled his backpack over his shoulders. “Yeah. I’m ready.” He paused. “Z?”

“Yeah?”

“Just, be careful up there,” he said.

“When am I not?” She asked.

“Is that a trick question?”

Ryan didn't like to admit it, but he was quite fond of Z’s company. Losing her would be a bummer, to say the least. They started down the tunnel, their footsteps loud and echoing.

“You think Bill still has our shit?”

Z shrugged. “For his sake... he better.”

* * *

Ryan’s foot collided with William's jaw.

“The guns, Bill. We want our guns back,” Z said and William looked up at her disbelievingly, his nose dripping blood onto the pavement.

“Look, guys, it’s complica–” Ryan's foot swung and hit William in the ribs. He let out a yelp of pain as Ryan pulled his arm behind his back. “I just–” Ryan pulled it back further. “Okay, okay! Stop, stop, just stop, I’ll tell you.”

Ryan loosened his grip slightly. “Quit squirming.”

Z rolled her eyes and said, “Unnecessary, Ryan,” but didn't seem too annoyed when Ryan kept his arm in the uncomfortable position. She tried to stare William in the eye, but his face was scrunched in pain, an ugly gash drawn across his nose (which Ryan proudly noted was from the toe of his own boot, thank you very much). “As you were saying, Bill.”

William took a deep breath and tried to brace himself. “I sold them.”

Z looked at Ryan who felt his stomach drop. “Excuse me?”

William looked at if he was on the verge of tears, his breathing fast. “I didn’t have much of a choice, Z. I owed them. Big.”

“You owed us.” Z snapped, reaching for her gun. “I’d say you bet on the wrong horse.”

William shuddered under Ryan's touch. “I just... need more time. Give me a week.”

Z breathed. “You know, I just may have done that if you hadn't tried to fucking kill me.” He started to plead but Z cut him off. “Who has our guns?”

William let out small helpless breaths as Ryan pulled his arm back further. He winced. “Can’t say.”

Ryan looked at Z who nodded in agreement.

Ryan swiftly snapped William’s arm in two.

He let out a shriek in pain as Ryan let him go, kicking him in the ribs again for good measure. “Tell her!”

William was weeping now, tears running down his reddened face as his arm slumped to his side. “Travie. I owed the fireflies.”

 _Well, shit_. Ryan didn’t see that coming. He shot Z a nervous look but she remained unfazed.

“What?” She asked him.

William opened his dark eyes which had started to develop deep, blue shadows around them. “They’re basically extinct! We can just–just find them and finish them off.” He sounded desperate. “We can get the guns!” He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace, his teeth covered in blood.

Z looked at Ryan.

“Fuck the fireflies!” William shouted, curling in on his ribs. “What do you say?”

Ryan looked at Z.

“That,” She said, pulling out her gun, “is a fucking stupid idea.”

There was a gunshot and William’s head rolled back, the slightly-perturbing bullet hole in his neck starting to spill blood.

Ryan sighed. “Well. Now what?”

Z shrugged. “We get our shit back?”

“Yeah? And how do you suppose we're going to do that?”

Z began to pace. “I don’t know! We explain it to them? Look, we can just find a firefly–”

“You won't have to look very far.” His attention was drawn to a tall, built man with tattoos and a ring in his nose. Ryan opened his arms wide. “Well, there you go, Z. Queen of the hive.”

Travie scowled and shook his head, the dark hair pressed under his cap shifting slightly. “That’s bees.”

Oh.

It was then that Ryan noticed that Travie was clutching his side, blood covering his hand and staining the sleeve of his jacket. “Why are you two here?” He asked them.

“Business.” Z responded, the usual unfriendliness evident in her tone. “You aren’t looking too good, sailor.”

Travie sighed and looked down to his side briefly. “I was told William would be here. Have you seen him?”

Z stepped to the side, revealing William’s corpse.

He chuckled sardonically. “I needed him alive.”

Oh well. They needed their guns.

“Those guns, the ones that he gave you? They weren’t his to sell,” Z said, getting straight to the point. They might as well, Z wasn't kidding when she said he didn't look good. Someone had to be alive to give them their shit. “I want them back.”

Travie cast a look to the side. “You know it don’t work like that, Z.”

Z glared at him. “The hell it doesn’t.”

“I paid for those guns. You want ‘em back? You're gonna have to earn ‘em.” Travie straightened.

Z looked at Ryan, who shook his head no. Never. Never would he aid the Fireflies. Z ignored him.

“How many cards are we talking about?” Z asked, and Travie scoffed.

“I don’t a give shit about ration cards–I need something smuggled out of the city.” Ryan shot a glare at Z, but she wasn't looking. No. Fuck no. Absolutely not.

Travie looked at Ryan briefly as if he knew what he thinking. “You do that for me, and I’ll give you your guns back, and then some.”

Z raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How do we know you have them? The way I hear it, the military’s been wiping you guys out.”

Travie cast a look down to his shoes. “Yeah. You’re not wrong. I’ll show you the weapons.”

Ryan looked at Z who thankfully looked skeptical.

Travie let out a low grunt of pain and took a sharp breath before clutching his side tighter. “I gotta move.” Although, Ryan was skeptical that Travie could stand for another minute, let alone walk. He looked to Z and then at Ryan. “What’s it gonna be?”


End file.
